summer

I was stuck in a cubicle all last summer, breaking up my days by making endless cups of tea and going to the bathroom just for the fun of it. I hated last summer. It was rainy, humid, dull. Also, I attempted the whole no-shampoo thing which did nothing but add to the general sense of weirdness that was my life.  It was only a temp job, but I still couldn't see past the summer; couldn't imagine that my life would ever again be filled with things like shorts or purpose or sunshine.

And instead of mind-numbing routine and flourescent lights, this summer has been an overabundance of adventure and unexpected opportunties, even coming to a dramatic close with our semi-annual pregnancy scare. 

This time around, adventures and opportunities seemed to come out of nowhere, like the first cherry blossoms of the season. Each giving me a choice to either play it safe or take a risk I wasn't sure I was ready to make. I was asked, out of nowhere, to do my first photo shoot, even though I had made a strict decision not to take photos for anyone until I had had my camera for more than, you know, the two short months I had owned it. But I said yes and it was an irreplacable learning experience that gave me confidence I didn't know I had.

After being frustrated with a crappy retail schedule I was offered a job by a friend at church, totally out of the blue. I put in my two weeks notice at Anthropologie, bought some killer pants with my employee discount, and haven't looked back.

When visiting my family one weekend, they asked if I wanted to be an extra in a movie with them (this is the sort of thing one comes to expect when visiting my family. These are people who ride unicycles and fly planes and bring home pet alligators). And so I went home, drove the two hours back to Charlotte the next day and stayed up until three in the morning filming a scene with my sisters and doing everything in our power not to giggle at the hilarity of it all. Because we, out of all the extras, we were positioned directly behind the actors and will most certainly be seen, one body part or another, in the movie.

All the bizarre things I felt I missed out on last summer seemed to come back sevenfold; friendships made and celebrated, suprise parties, a beach trip that involved Trevor and I locking ourselves out of the third floor balcony late one night, coffee dates and library books and sun. We went for late night swims, had magical dates at Italian restaurants where we kept getting free food and beverages "to celebrate special date, yes, and also you are so cute." We rode bikes and boats and jet skis. We added exponentially to the coffee stains punctuating our living room carpet. This summer has reminded me that life can still be a string of adventures even after getting myself situated into this next phase called adulthood. This summer taught me to say yes, to take chances, to revel in spontaeity.

And mostly it's just been sunny.

There's been no real schedule or rhythm or routine. Nothing has been consistent; that'll all come with the cardigans and chilly winds brushing leaves off of branches. And maybe it's a little ridiculous to gush about a good and perfect summer, but the thing is you never know what a season is going to hold and when you're gifted with an almost perfect one, I think it's okay to be grateful for it and let that contented sigh, along with all you've gathered and learned, usher you into whatever's next.

magnolias and things

T H I S  W E E K

A farmer's market date.

Blueberries. 

Guilty pleasure 80's movies (looking at you, Jewel of the Nile.) 

Working inventory at 5AM. Totally thought it was one of those things where everyone shows up in sweats, unwashed hair, and no makeup but, nope. Just me. 

Coffee with friends. 

Morning at the lake.

Jane Austen. 

Trevor coming to my rescue when my car battery died at work. I left the lights on. Fortunately my absentmindedness coincided with his lunch break. 

A truly legendary thrift store find.

Magnolias.

Introducing my husband to Breakfast at Tiffany's -- he's not a fan. Though, as dear as it is to my heart, it is a weird little movie. 

thoughts from the porch

 

Indigo blue sky, eerie and cool after a warm day in the sun. I want only to sip orange juice on my couch, bare armed and bare legged, watching the world stand perfectly still outside my window. There's a concert at church tonight, dinner to make, clothes to fold. What is it about spring that makes the daily things not just livable, but exciting?

* * *

I was sitting out here in the cool, almost mountain-like air, in the weirdness of this night. Quiet, waiting for God to come, maybe talk to me. I know that these moments are so very real, but I also wonder if he really is here, talking to me. Because all I hear is rustling leaves and the neighbor sneezing from the other side of the pond and the occasional dog bark.

And then I read, "Hallelujah! You who serve God, praise God! Just to speak his name is praise! Just to remember God is a blessing - now and tomorrow and always." (Psalm 113:1-2, The Message.)

Beautiful.

* * *

On the porch. The air is thick with jasmine and honeysuckle, and so hot. I love this porch, especially when the leaves are full and new and the branches seem almost heavy with life. Sometimes I sit here and almost feel out of place - as if I'm already in an old, favorite memory; dreamy and surreal. Remember when I was young, when I used to sit out on the porch of that cute little apartment? When I read the Bible for the first time, really read it, when I learned what it meant to make art? When Trevor and I could make a whole date out of pouring coffee and sitting next to each other? Weren't those the days? 

These are the days.

Thoughts on True Rest

I've been hearing a lot about self-care lately. It seems like everyone is saying the same thing: We need to slow down. And every time I hear it, I think, "Yeah, I'll stick that in my pocket and think about that when I'm a mom or, you know, actually busy. But my days are so slow, rest is the last thing I need. Don't even talk to me about me time, I'm sick of me!"

And then I took a technology fast last week. No Internet (well, besides posting here), no TV, no social media. (Nothing overly spiritual on my part; it was a church thing.)

From day one of the fast, God started to talk me about rest, of all things. Apparently God is on the rest bandwagon, too, because every Bible verse and story I read was about rest. Every sermon, conversation, thought I scribbled in my journal, all centered on the same idea. To the point where it almost got weird.

I was so confused about it at first; This is not supposed to apply to me right now, I kept thinking. Because clearly I need to be a little more Martha and a little less Mary. Rest is for pastors and moms and CEOs, not quiet little me. 

Most days, I have all kinds of time to myself. Time to exercise, to read, to make my favorite special tea twenty times a day if I want. And even if I have the most perfect "restful" day, my mind will still be louder than an airport Starbucks at seven in the morning - shouting out fears and doubts and worries, one right after the other like a long string of double shot latte orders.

But then I began to learn about the difference between true rest, rest found in God, and simply taking "me time". Because vegging out on the couch and finding my hiding place in Him are not the same thing.

True rest, the kind Jesus gives, doesn't always necessarily mean being physically still. True rest is more than a physical time-out, it's our posture towards God. It's trusting in Him.

This week, for me, finding rest looked like belly laughing with a group of girls in the hallway after church. Sitting on my porch in silence, coffee cup in hand and no agenda or phone to scroll through. A sunny ride home from the grocery store, windows down, radio off. Flipping through the Bible longer than usual when I felt like it wasn't quite time to get up yet. Letting myself be fully present, enjoying the exact moment at hand without distraction, and responding in gratitude.

I think this quote from Annie Dillard sums it up perfectly:

Experiencing the present purely is being emptied and hollow; you catch grace as a man fills his cup under a waterfall.

Right now I'm having all the thoughts on rest, but I'll spare you and simply leave you with a challenge to get some rest this week. Real rest. It's a "challenge" because true rest is not passive, it's intentional. And I think God wants to meet you there.

A Year Later

One year ago yesterday we were in our new apartment, surrounded by boxes and newly scratched furniture. Excited, nervous, ready. Ready for the big things God surely had planned for us in this new town, so friendly and new and unlike anyplace we'd ever lived before (two Starbucks!) This was it. This was what we'd been waiting for.

And then I didn't find a job. (I still haven't exactly found a steady job.) The shine began to wear off and I found myself feeling anxious and lonely and homesick for the home this place was supposed to be. Trevor was settling into his new role as worship pastor, but I was pacing the apartment day after day, asking God if it was really Him who had led us here. Because things weren't going right, and when things don't go as planned, that means that surely we're out of God's will?

I scrounged up some loose change one day and went to Starbucks for a cup of tea, job finder newsletter in hand. The tea was good, but the only jobs listed were for truck drivers and Avon sales reps. I trashed it and stared wistfully out the window. This was getting irritating.

I opened up my library book, if only to keep myself out of that cramped apartment for another hour. But the words rolled out of the page and over me and God must have showed up, because I began to ugly cry right there in Starbucks. Thank goodness the place was empty.

The words from the book rang so clear and true in my heart and it hurt. Is my foundation truly in God? If He is truly where my help comes from, then why am I despairing? And an even harder truth - that maybe this move, this new start, this new town, wasn't really about me. What if God didn't bring me here for my comfort, my personal happiness? What if He brought me here solely for His glory? To do a new work in me, to prune me, so that ultimately He may be glorified through me?

It's been a year since I scrawled those words into my journal and I am just now starting to get it.

This year hasn't been neat or tidy or easy. Though I looked hard for patterns and plot and meaning behind the rises and falls, I can see now that it was just life. And a lot of it sucked. I was confronted with the filth in my heart as it was starkly contrasted by the glittering lakes and quiet streets of this perfect little town. I was a mess.

I lift my eyes to the hills, where does my help come from?

I look back at all the random events and emotions that made up this year; the boredom, the busyness, the loneliness, the endless job searching, the depression, the joy. It doesn't fit into a neat, sensical plot. It doesn't make any sense.

But it did point me to God. All of it. It revealed how little I can do on my own; how much I need Him. And I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm finally going back to the basics, laying out the foundation. Not looking at what is or isn't going right; only looking to Jesus, the only true source of meaning and purpose.

Life is full and rich again, like a meal at our favorite restaurant downtown. I have no idea what direction my life is going in and I tend to stare blankly when people talk about five-year plans. But there is a deep joy that's replaced the fear and loneliness. And if that's all that came out of this mixed up little year, that's more than enough.

beginnings

My husband made the most beautiful coffee table for our living room. Unfortunately, you can barely see it underneath all my books and notebooks and journals and planners, all strategically placed withing reach for the upcoming year. Few things excite me more than a stack of blank notebooks.

I can't tell you how much I love the idea of a fresh start every year (or season or week.) I love newness - a newly organized closet, a new go-to Winter outfit, a new page.

And yet after I purge my closet and line up my new notebooks and think happy thoughts of the year to come, I wonder if maybe I'm being a bit silly. This "fresh start" talk, is it even real? Is this just one of those things we humans make up to feel like our lives are actually going in a specific direction as opposed to wandering aimlessly?

One of my goals for the new year was to read straight through the Bible. I was only on the first page of Genesis the other day when a verse struck me: "And God said, 'Let there be lights in the expanse of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark seasons and days and years...'" (Genesis 1:14)

Seasons were part of God's original design for a perfect creation. I've never thought about that before.

For some reason, I think of change and seasons as a result of the fall of mankind, as a sort of plan B. Change, isn't that so often seen as a bad thing? But even before sin ever entered the world, God planned for us to go through seasons, literal and figurative. We were never meant to live static lives, even in Eden.

God doesn't roll his eyes when I get excited for a fresh start. A brand new year is his idea, his plan for us. This goal setting, this dreaming and planning - it's not in our heads. This fresh start we've been given is not only real, it's been given to us by God. And that's all the encouragement I need to dream big for the year ahead.

thoughts on solitude

"I felt closer to my fellow men, too, even in my solitude. For it is not physical solitude that actually separates one from other men, not physical isolation, but spiritual isolation. It is not the desert island nor the stony wilderness that cutes you from the people you love. It is the wilderness of the mind, the desert wastes in the heart through which one wanders lost and a stranger. When one is a stranger to oneself then one is estranged from others too. If one is out of touch with oneself, then one cannot touch others."

Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift From the Sea

"Guard your steps when you go to the house of God. Go near to listen rather than to offer the sacrifice of fools, who do not know that they do wrong."

Ecclesiastes 5:1

I've been thinking a lot about solitude lately, mostly because the subject keeps popping up in nearly everything I read. Even the fiction book I'm reading, The Light Between Oceans, is about solitude, about a lighthouse keeper and his wife living alone on a tiny island.

And, you know, as an introvert I'm all about spending time alone. That's my happy place. But I think that true solitude is about more than that; it means stilling your heart and mind more than (or along with) your physical surroundings. I spend a lot of time alone, but I've only recently started making it more purposeful.

I'm trying to intentionally seek out quiet time in which I simply sit and listen. This is something that's always been hard for me, just sitting there, waiting. What was the point, I thought, when I can't hear Him speak?

But now I'm finding that, even though I don't necessarily hear Him speak in those minutes of silence, it somehow opens up my heart to hear Him at unexpected moments as I go about my day. Maybe that's what it's about, giving Him room to come on in.

I want to continue to explore this solitude thing more. Make it a way of life. Because being alone in and of itself is not life giving. I can be constantly check my phone, flitting aimlessly from one project to another, not really settled in my spirit. But true solitude is a stillness of the heart, a peace that gives the day meaning, intention, and a sense of awareness of what really matters. An openness to God and to people.

Join me?

life lately

We're nearing the end of August but it's still a hot, Carolina summer here. I get a sunburn just walking to the pool. But as soon as night falls it gets so deliciously cool that it becomes a little easier to imagine long sleeves and boots and socks (socks! I've all but forgotten about the things.)

I am unemployed, still. Well meaning people at church, upon finding this out, ask what I do, what kind of work I'm looking for. "Uh, well." The heck if I know. Truly, the heck. Normally it suffices to simply shrug and say, "I was, like, an English major..."

I don't know what I want to do. This is disappointing, for an instrospective person who has a tendency to overthink things. I should at least have some sort of inkling. But I'm learning that, so far, all I really know what I don't want to do.

After months of working in a professional setting at the college nearby, I'm finding that it's starting to matter less and less, this whole question of what I should do. It's becoming less of a big deal as I accept that I am probably not missing out on some cosmic calling, at least not concerning a job.

I used to get so angry scanning job websites. "I am way too qualified to file papers and answer phones; I'm smart!" And then I would look over to Trevor. "Right? Aren't I smart?"

But God (I guess it was God? who else?) reminded me, yet again, that I was being prideful. And was that what I was really after in life, anyway? A swanky, suit-wearing career? No. I've never been that girl. I'm an artist. Who cares what I do for work as long as I'm making time for writing, for my "life's work" as they say.

So yesterday, after perusing jobs online until my eyeballs practically bled, I applied at a grocery store. Whole Foods, but still. Bagging groceries would have been so beneath me even in high school, but now? Now I am a married woman, involved in a church I love, writing a book I actually like, and on top of all that my bangs are finally starting to grow out. My life is not perfect, but it's so full that I don't need to find my identity or purpose in a job. Who cares?

Okay, a part of me will always care. A part of me will always loathe working entry level jobs to pay off debt for a college degree. But I'm making peace with that.

Anyway. So for now I'm waiting. I'm writing like a mad woman, punching away at the keyboard, high on caffeiene and life. Coming home from the libary with stacks of books I've never heard of. Having long chats on the phone with people I love. Being a housewife and, yes, even making dinner on occasion. Life is good. And no matter what happens next, I believe it will continue to be good.

So if you see me around town wearing a visor and nametag, well, you'll understand.

currently

reading: Plan B, Further Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lammot (not my favorite of her work, but I don't hate it), another poetry book by Billy Collins, and Eat This Book by Eugene Peterson.

eating: the most beautiful chocolate mousse cake which has been living on our counter all week. Everytime I look at it, I feel so proud to have mastered a French recipe, and then I remember that Trevor actually made it. Well.

drinking: this super-organic mate green tea I bought on clearance at Target. I feel like I should wear Chacos and a feather in my hair while drinking it, but it's good. I get this weird energy-high when I drink it--like, suspiciously high, as in I want to clean the whole apartment after being at work all day, all while singing Gloria Estefan. I'm not questioning it.

loving: my new glasses (even though I am afraid the prescription is much too strong, as my shoes look twenty feet away and I can't make it through a grocery store trip without falling all over strangers and magazine racks.) Also, after dinner walks, coffee in travel mugs, and avocados.

hoping: to have long, luscious locks by the fall.

watching: Cheers reruns. Don't you just hate when you're talking to new friends and they ask what shows you watch and your only answer is "Um...Cheers." Who even knows what the cool kids are watching these days?

feeling: overwhelmed. Jobs, dreams, 5 year plans, debt--the usual adult stuff. (Also, dental hygeine. I realized, the other day, that my parents will never again pay for my dental work, and I hyperventilated and bought multiple packs of dental floss.) This grown-up stuff, sheesh. I'm starting to even resent my dreams; they only leave me feeling guilty and so far behind on my Life Schedule. Although I am ahead of the game in the marriage department, so maybe that makes it even for a while? Surely.

what I'm learning

Packages never arrive when they're supposed to. Also, I need to stop ordering things off the Internet because the anticipation just about makes me crazy to the point where I suddenly cannot function until I receive my package of fruity tea, or that necklace from Korea.

Organic coffee is just as good. Maaaaaybe better.

It's best to just accept that I do, in fact, look seventeen. ("Bless your heart," one lady said to me the other day, "you've just got one of them baby faces.") Perhaps top knots and pink jeans don't help.

I am so much more creative and energized and free spirited when unemployed. Dang it.

Also, husbands don't fall for that, "But I need to stay home to be free to explore my creative potential!" talk. (I guess he's already seen how far my artsy degree has gotten me?)

At least I know, from my week and a half of unemployment, that I would make a superb housewife. Laundry is great fun when you have a whole eight hours to do it.

Fake flowers? Eh, they do the trick.

Women still have a bump after giving birth. Not to sound totally ignorant, but I truly did not know this until I saw the Kate Middleton pictures. She looked incredibly gorgeous and elegant as always, but I was so confused that she was holding a baby...with a baby bump. But after some quick research, I now know just a little more about the facts of life. The Internet has cured my naivety once again.

Good intentions don't count.

Poetry is great. Being an English major made me anxious around it, like it was something to be dissected and gutted like a fish, and I'm not really into getting my hands dirty. Does anyone even know what that red wheelbarrow poem is all about? Because I'd really like to believe it's just about a wheelbarrow. And now you know why I am, to this day, still afraid to see what GPA I graduated with. I may never know. But I've been reading some (modern) poetry for fun, and I may just be a convert. Much better way to spend those spare moments than scrolling through my phone.

Scrambled eggs and avocado are changing my life.

One month later, that no-shampoo gig is also changing my life. So worth those couple weeks of suspiciously slick ponytails.

Always check to see if your clothes are on backwards.

I may never get out of this cycle of random temp jobs. Getting trained and starting something new every couple weeks and not knowing what's going to happen next. I guess it's nice, in a way, better than being strapped down to a job I hate. But I'm suffering from recurring day-dreams of getting hired at that cute book shop downtown and shelving the classics in my poofy white skirt and cardigan. Recommending my favorites while pushing my glasses up my nose. Is it too much to ask?

The fact that I was born after eyebrow pencils were invented is proof that God loves me.

oh, life

Sometimes you just need a random, somewhat spontaneous day trip to the beach. On Saturday we packed a cooler with Clif bars, grapes, and chocolate covered blueberries and drove until we hit the sand. We swam, we read, we adjusted the umbrella a hundred times. We walked and tanned and (eventually) burned, scouring the sand for shells, which all looked so alike at first glance until we stooped down and suddenly found they're wildly different, each its own universe. It was sweaty, sandy magic. A day made just for us, grinning like idiots at each other, chocolate blueberries melting in our hands.

It poured on the way home, a monsoon-like rain, the kind that would be down-right aggravating driving home from work on a Tuesday night in heels, but was dreamy and romantic driving away from the ocean. We pulled into Cracker Barrell for dinner, wet and slap-happy and pink all over. We drank coffee and ate breakfast food and had hilarious, absurd conversations that I can't even remember now. I was being overdramatic and sappy as usual, saying, "Isn't this wonderful? Isn't this the best day ever? Don't you just love life?" Coffee at Cracker Barrell in the rain after a day at the beach is my new favorite thing. I heartily recommend trying it sometime.

from my notebook

Who I am, right now: I am barely twenty-four years old, currently unemployed as of last Friday. There is chipped red nail polish on my nails and an iced coffee in my hand. I guess I should be home searching for jobs, but do I ever do the logical thing? Sealing my fate into yet another receptionist job does not sound like a fun summer activity on this perfect sunny day. Instead I am at a coffeehouse with my navy and blue striped bag full of books. This is only my second day of unemployment, after all, and I need a break. Everyone deserves a week or two of summer. Right?

I've been able to listen--to myself, to God, to the poems hiding in each moment. And that's hard to do when you're driving to work at seven and driving home at five, each hour already planned out. I like the freedom of setting my own schedule, saying, "You know, I think I'll dabble in watercolor today." It wouldn't be healthy to live like this for very long, of course, but I'll take it while I can get it.

* * *

It's chilly in the apartment and it looks deceivingly cold outside, with the grey and the shadows under every leaf. I'm tempted, in the dark of this room, to wish secretly for autumn--for Irish sweaters and chunky glasses and hair in a fat bun, taking long walks to coffee shops on cool mornings. I'm tempted to wish for apple cider in my crock pot and Trevor in a beanie and the magic that falls with the leaves. But I stop myself because this day was once longed for, too--bare feet and ice cream and midnight swims under a full moon. Parks, porches, and a certain spontaneity unique to the summertime.

* * *



This is the first slight shift of seasons I've had since moving here, and I guess that's natural--we've been here three months, a whole season (hard as that is to believe.) The first months were this: adjustment, new faces, falling in love with every neighborhood and street corner, rearranging furniture, making friends over Mexican food and our favorite stories to embellish, panicking about and getting settled into jobs.

And now we're happily settled and this is where we live. I'm obviously back to square one as far as jobs are concerned, but I don't have that panicky, what-is-my-life feeling. Everything was go go go the first months, breathless and exhilirating. And now God has so mercifully given me a moment to pause and reflect on all he's done for us here. A time to rest my racing thoughts and prepare myself (or rather, let him prepare me) for whatever is next.

let's pretend we're chatting over tea

So, an update of sorts. The past few weeks have been steadily busy. Now that Trevor is full time at the church and I'm full time at my (albeit temporary) job, things have settled into something almost resembling a routine. For now. And I am so grateful for tiny moments away (like last Thursday morning) for chill time at our favorite coffee shop. (It's beach themed, swoon.)

Have you heard of the no-shampoo experiment girls all over the Internet seem to be doing lately? Well (sigh) I am now one of them. I am all about the natural crap these days (you're not going to believe this--I ran out bronzer and, feeling cheap, decided to try cinnamon instead. CINNAMON. And, guys, it works. It seems so so strange the first time you swipe it on your face, but you'll smell like a snickerdoodle cookie for the rest of the day. Just try it.) Anyway, so I am two weeks in on this no shampoo thing, and my hair looks like greased lightning. But if there is one thing I'm not, it's a quitter, so by golly I will see this through to the end. Probably.

I have made quite a dent in my summer reading list, most recently finishing Surprised by Joy by C.S. Lewis. (True story: one of my best friends from home reads my blog and sent this in the mail for my birthday--is that the sweetest thing ever or what?)

I also picked up The Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy at the most adorable used bookstore downtown. I picked out a paperback version, but the store owner stopped me and pulled a fat hardcover off the back of the shelf and handed it to me slowly like it was a sacred treasure (which, one chapter in, it already is.) "Oh, no," she said. "This is a classic. You need the hardcover version." And she even gave me a discount on it. Have I mentioned I love this town?

Aside from the unbearable huidity, it has not felt like summer around these parts, what with the rain and clouds and all. But it's okay, most days. I'm back to being see-through pale, but it is nice to spend quiet afternoons with a cup of chai and my boyfriend (read: husband.)

Gahh, I'm talking about the weather. Okay, shutting up.

Have a happy weekend friends!




Note: For questions regarding the no-shampoo thing, I would recommend this post. Also, if you try cinnamon as a bronzer, be sure to use waaaay more than you would use with regular bronzer. It takes quite a bit, but once it's on it stays put for the rest of the day. See here for more information. Let me know if you like it (so I know I'm not the only crazy one.)

on the important things

It's another grey Wednesday morning, the kind of morning made for introspection, and such. Right now I'm thinking about the important things. The things, the moments, that really matter. And apparently it's not tea time.

I am a girl who, true to introverted form, needs my space. My quiet time to be alone and read, write, stare aimlessly at the ceiling, be. It's essential to my well-being and overall sanity, but I wonder if I have placed this alone time as too high a priority.

I'm not one of those people who needs coaxing to take a load off, take time for herself. That has never been a problem for me. I schedule "time to myself" like I would a dentist appointment or trip to the grocery store. I need it that much.

But lately, life has happened. I am working full time for the first time in my life and, boy, if that isn't a wake up call. Welcome to the real world, where I don't get to crawl into sweats at 3PM and read on the porch all afternoon. Thankful as I am for this job, I hate being in rush mode at all times, racing through the week until Friday finally comes.

And just when I am ready to wipe off my makeup and plant my yoga pants-butt on the couch, something happens on my sacred Friday. Weekend house guests come. Friends want to do dinner. There's a meeting at church. And before I know it, Sunday night is here and I have barely written  a word, barely had time with God, barely slowed down. Part of me wants to get just a little bitter. Do people not understand that I work all week? That I need a break? That things are getting just a little too extroverted around here?

Never mind that it was only two short months ago that I was sitting home all alone, getting quite corpulent on books and tortilla chips, wondering aloud why I didn't have any friends. Any real purpose. Well here it is, sister. Here are your friends and purpose and job and activities and then some.

I give a sleepy smile as I write these words and shake my head. How interesting, that life is not actually all about me and what I want.

Maybe, (huh.) maybe life is about other people.

Not that it's wrong to need time away, even for just an hour, to refocus and think. I will never not need that. We all need that. But I'm realizing that once I push my whiny self aside, I can find real Joy in early morning conversations with friends over coffee and homemade raspberry bread. In having an intelligent conversation with my husband instead of saying, "Mm, not now, I just need to be alone, thanks." In being surrounded by other women, laughing so hard because it's way past my bedtime, and there's mascara streaming down my face and I'm basically a train wreck, but in the best way.

Of course I will continue to carve out time to pray, to breathe. I can't do those other things well without it. But I'm choosing to make people more important than myself, to push all those "But what about me?" thoughts aside to become intentional about investing in others. It's uncomfortable and foreign at first, but at the end of the day, gosh, it feels good.

 

snippets from my yellow notebook

It is 2:57PM, at the office, and this is all I want in life: a shamelessly large mug of coffee. To look at things, things out of a window perhaps, anything besides a computer. That feeling of sitting in my hot, sun-drenched car after a day of no windows and a fixed 71 degrees. A big spoonful of peanut butter. Also, a hug.

((later))

I came home to a grinning Trevor and the sound of the coffeepot gurgling and dripping fresh coffee. I have never loved him more.


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It's one of those days where I thew my hair in a bun and put on my favorite loose sweater and black cigarette pants and thought, every time I glanced in the mirror, that I looked like a very pale J.Lo.


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I went to Target tonight and bought dental floss, index cards, and face powder. And that might say a lot about me, about where I am in life.


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So I was thinking about kids today. I had a dream I got to meet our future kids, a girl and two boys. They were so cute; I loved those hypothetical children so much. So maybe I'll be ready in four-ish years. Maybe. And that's all I'm going to say about that.


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Note: apparently Dutch people sleep with their eyes open. Must google!


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I love when I keep thinking about a certain moment or past event over and over, wondering why the details are still so real and vivid when suddenly I realize, "Of course! I should be writing about this!"


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Awkward: When the person at the table across from you takes a sip from his coffee at the same time you do, for the same length of time, and you can't help but glance at each other.


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I thought for a moment there that I was about to give up on blogging. All the numbers and self-promotion make me want to gag, or at least seriously roll my eyes at myself. But then (after remembering that I actually paid for the design and all) I said, Heather, just blog for the heck of it. Write what you want to write (that is the point, isn't it?) and see who shows up.

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I was working at the coffee bar at church last Sunday (have I mentioned I do that? have I also mentioned that those so heavily dependent on caffeine as I should not be responsible for putting it together and doling it out first thing in the morning?)

This lady walked up to me, eyebrows pulled together in recognition, and said, "You're...are you...?"

I smiled. "Trevor's wife."

She shook her head. "No, you're Heather."

She gets it. Everyone at this church gets it, and for that I am grateful beyond words.

some weekend thoughts and ramblings

How unfortunate I just noticed that my arm actually blends in with the wall.

I'm at Starbucks tonight while Trev is working. I'm trying to be all economical still and not indulge on these solo dates BUT I found two Sacajawea coins in my car and if that's not a cause for celebration I don't know what is. Also, is there anything more fun to say than "Sacajawea"?

So this weekend Trevor's parents are coming to visit and that means I get to pretend that I know how to cook. On the dinner menu is mango barbeque chicken and for breakfast: homemade raspberry bread and eggs. None of which I've ever made before, obviously (except for eggs). Rather ambitious for a girl who thinks that opening a bag of salad counts as cooking.

But I really wanted to try the mango chicken, mostly because the recipe calls for rum. I just have this intense desire to buy liquor from a real live ABC store. While grinning maniacally at the cashier with "Bad" by Michael Jackson playing in my head like the goody-two shoes I am. Slightly reminiscent of when my mom bought Curacao for a key lime pie and pronounced it "cur-AK-cow".

Actually I can't make fun of her because the first time I ever tried wine I asked the waitress in my most polished and mature voice for a "mer-LOT" and Trevor about fell off his chair.

Okay, Starbucks, I appreciate 80's rap music as much as the next person but if I wanted to hear bad rhymes I would go to one of the other coffee shops downtown. (Yes, I am an English major who makes fun of poetry night. Only post graduation, of course.)

Is anyone else totally confused by the music choices of your local Starbucks? It's like, put on Ella Fitzgerald and be done with it.

Anyway, I hope you all have a truly lovely weekend. I am off to obsess over recipes and finish Still Points North by Leigh Newman (have you read it? Go get a copy right now!)

a day in the life

Four-thirty and I am into my warm apartment, heels off, crackers and hummus spread on the coffee table as I decide how I want to spend my evening. The sun is out and bright, even through the trees, and I have all the time in the world. I stab sweet potatoes with a fork, wrap them in aluminum foil, and toss them in the oven, hopeful that they'll be finished by the time Trevor comes home.

I pick up baseball caps and mascara tubes off the floor and shuffle wrinkled pajamas back into the closet. I unload the dishwasher and sweep as Benny Goodman plays in the background. Is big band and swing music too much for this peaceful afternoon? I don't care.

Apartment is clean-ish. Success! I feel all wifely inside.

I sit down to my laptop in the bright, appropriately named Yellow Room (aka the guest room that I have taken over with all things yellow.) I flip it open and poise my hands over the keys. A scratch of another key, Trevor's, against the latch, and the door creaks open. I frown a little at the screen. But he comes in, wearing that grey shirt I like and I hop into his arms and give him a kiss or two or ten.

He asks me about my first day at work, eyes eager and smiling. I recount the cubicles and the communal coffee pot and the quarter jar beside it, the one I didn't notice until after pouring a cup. What else? Scanning, staring. Sunlight during lunch. He tells me about his day; meetings and vision and leadership. We eat sweet potatoes, not quite done. We kiss and he's gone; band practice.*

I sigh, suddenly tired. What was I doing? Writing. For the blog. I sit back down and strike at the keys, mind distracted. The words fall flat. I'll try again tomorrow.


*Long story short: the bridal shop job did not end up working out.  I know.  Still super bummed, but I was offered an office job at a college nearby and, though not as exciting as working with brides and dresses, I am beyond grateful for it.



Linking up with Jenni at Story of My Life for her May blogging series. Have you been following along with her daily prompts?

on getting settled

This is not our apartment, but I have a feeling I'll be living here all the same.

We've been in our new home in Apex for four days now. Most of the boxes are, miraculously, unpacked and we no longer have to ask each other, "Where are pans again?" We no longer throw a celebration when one of us locates the toothpaste.

There might have been one day last week when I did not brush my teeth. Don't judge me. 

It's even cuter here than I remembered. My favorite is the view from the windows--we're on the third floor, right at the treetops. I like to step onto the balcony and pretend it's a treehouse, Swiss Family Robinson style when the neighbor's dog isn't yapping his head off.

But it's strange, too, settling into a new place and town. It feels like that first week of marriage, after the honeymoon, when Trevor and I had to figure out what this marriage thing was going to look like for us. I don't have a job yet or anything, really, to do, so now that our little world is unpacked, I walk around and think, "Now what?"

Just like in that first week of marriage, I'm desperate for a routine, a sense of normalcy. I want to get a feel for what our lives will be like here and, even though I know that it'll come in time, it's hard to be patient.

Fears creep in when I get lost trying to find my way around town or when I start to feel lonely: "What if we never really make friends here? What if I never find my place in this community and church? What if all those dreams about this place were just an illusion?"

I'm homesick for that sense of belonging. It's fun exploring, but I'm ready for a little consistency. As I hang up my clothes and put towels neatly into their new place, I wonder how life will change. With new jobs, new friends, new schedules, life will undoubtedly look vastly different.

How will our marriage change? How can we consciously grow together in this new season, one in which we're both adjusting to a new pace? Will I stay busy every evening or will I be the same Heather who just wants to curl up with a good book? Who the heck am I, anyway?

I know better than to worry, though. God brought us here for a very real purpose and, just like He has before, He'll put the pieces together.

It'll take effort, of course. Effort and time and a whole lot of patience. But, just like with marriage, we'll figure it all out.

some random thoughts

I've been feeling uninspired and unmotivated lately. In a bit of a slump, if you will. So for lack of any amusing stories or insights, I give you my stream of consciousness. 

I'm reading a book on French parenting, Bringing up Bebe by Pamela Druckerman. Don't get excited. I am nowhere near ready to give birth to an actual child (I want an epidural just thinking about it.) In fact, I picked it up hoping that it might make me a little less turned off to the idea of procreating. It seems like most young moms are completely devoted to their kids, wearing sweatpants every day and showering once a week. It's commendable, to be sure, but it also scares the crap out of me. I like showers. I like quiet afternoons with a stack full of library books. I like sleep.

But this book explores parenting a la the French (not sure if I used that "a la" correctly, but let's just go with it.) I'm not one of those girls who is in love with Paris or anything French-related although chocolate croissants are my own personal heaven but I like these French moms. They're stylish, they wear makeup, they love their kids but don't let them run their lives. It's an interesting read, regardless of  your views on parenting.

In other news, I have given up coffee. For two weeks I have been drinking tea instead of coffee in the mornings (and, let's be honest, pretty much the entire day). Much to my surprise, I still have a personality. Phew. 

I decided to give it up because of this new health kick the hubs and I are on. I'll spare you coffee addicts my reasoning behind giving up coffee in particular. I wouldn't want to hear it, either. But I will say that coffee is the one thing I thought I could truly never live without. When people would tell me I needed to stop drinking so much, I would say, "But coffee is my liiiiiiiife!" Coffee to me was what eyeliner is to Kate Middleton. It was my trademark.

And, although I have had some headaches here and there, quitting has been so much easier than I expected. I feel better. I don't even really miss it (confession: I do allow myself a cup a week and when I drink it, I think, "What? All the hype for this?"). 

Lately I'm feeling overwhelmed by the silliest things. It seems like there are so many things I want to learn, do, accomplish. Even though I'm only twenty-three, I keep telling myself, "Do it now! Time's running out; you're going to have a full-time job soon, kids someday. This is your last shot at doing everything you ever wanted to do!" And what's sad is that I'm stressing about filling my day with the most ridiculous things. 

I want to master calligraphy with the pens I got for Christmas. I want to practice watercolor again. I want to learn how to play that ukulele hanging on the wall. I want to complete the half-finished manuscript that's been hibernating in my laptop. I want to exercise. I even want to embroider. I think what I really need is a life. It's ridiculous to get so stressed about hobbies, I know. Some people actually have real problems to worry about. But it is what it is. Maybe I just need to prioritize.  

Trevor and I are going on yet another trip this weekend for yet another job interview, and I'm still crazy-excited. Still putting way too much thought into what color I should paint my nails. Still researching apartments and local coffee (er, tea) shops. Whatever happens, I am hopeful and confident that God is looking out for us. It's going to be good.

on me not going crazy

This is basically my life nowadays.

It's almost March and when did that happen? I usually don't like when people remark on how quickly time seems to be passing (because isn't it always?) But we've been wanting to move since November, and we still don't know when that'll happen. So that fact that March is already roaring in like a lion has caught me off guard.

I am so, so ready to move.

This place, this town, this house--it was never my ideal place to live. I'm grateful for our house and for a beautiful, cozy first year of marriage. For the willow tree out front and the little hammock out back.
I'll never forget the fun we had working together and figuring out how to do this marriage thing.

But it's time.

I know it's tiring to hear my vague thoughts and dreams about moving. It's getting on my nerves, too. I can't wait until something becomes concrete. Yes, we can finally start packing. Yes, we know exactly when and where we're moving. Yes, we can buy those cute little change of address cards. But we don't know any of those things yet.

We're tip-toeing around the uncertainty and trying our best to live fully in the present, sipping endless cups of coffee and daydreaming together, as usual. We don't know where we'll be a month from now, but we do know that we can hang on to the things we are sure of. That God is always in control. That fish tastes best crusted in parmesan. That spring cleaning is good for the soul, and that sunshine and lazy days at the park are not as far away as they seem.

I'm staying as hopeful as I can in hopes that I don't end up at the funny farm. Because, you know, as frustrating as this season can be it is still so exciting. The thought of decorating our house, not just coming in and trying to make Trevor's house seem like mine, too--that's going to be heaven. Flowers and doilies everywhere, hurrah! I'm hoping that he will accept my homemade art as acceptable decor, or at least pretend to (I've kind of been blowing up my pinterest boards lately.)

So that's where I'm at now. Trying to be laid back, trying to go with the flow. Trying not to burst with anticipation. It's going to all be worth it soon. I think.